Game
by Kankokujinpoi
Summary: Stan Marsh, Craig Tucker, and a deer meet in the woods. *Shrugs Shoulders* That's all I got.


At 7am on a Saturday morning, Stan Marsh would normally never be in the middle of the woods. Usually Stan is already half way into warm-ups by now. Practice starts at quarter til' seven, but Stan usually shows up by 7:30.

No matter how hard the party was the night before, Stan would still wake up well before seven. Practice was cancelled today due to the coaches claim to some meeting, but that never prevented Stan from getting a nice morning work out.

If Stan were to run at the track, another teammate might take that as an invitation to run with him. Although Stan loves company, there is a time and place for everything. If Stan were to run around his neighborhood, his father might wake up half way through the run and try to catch up to Stan, thinking that the two could use some quality time together. Maybe there are some things there is no time or place for.

So here Stan is, running through the woods near the trailer park where Kenny lives. Today the woods are unusually quiet, birds seem to have slept in with all the other inhabitants of South Park. The air is crisp, the ground still wet enough for Stan to foot surf on tall enough blades of grass if he still found the energy to take off his shoes. Once Stan stops to take his pulse he hears the classic twig-snapping-in-the-woods.

Stan is not one for violence. Even when they were little, it was Cartman or even Kyle to resort to violent measures. Even now, faced with some unknown danger, Stan is sure he could reason with whatever intruder might be just behind the bushes.

Reasoning with a deer is futile. Deer aren't meant to hurt anything besides grass really. Once Stan sees the timid deer pop its head out from the bushes his face softens. Stan loves animals. He can remember on two separate occasions trying to save the whales, tried to keep a turkey alive, baby cows, and even though there was never any action taken, Stan has always felt incredibly bad for Cartman's kitty.

Stan walks closer to the deer, holding out his hand. There was a time there were deer everywhere in South Park, although recently there have been more deer found on the side of the road rather than in front yards. Stan has no idea why anyone would ever kill a deer. Hell, he even swerves for squirrels. Kyle has even yelled at him when he stops to place a turtle on the side of the road away from traffic.

Before Stan steps any closer to the deer the deer looks Stan square in the face. He feels its eyes connect with his. He almost expects to hear a voice, some sign of a deeper connection with this deer. Maybe this deer is special. Different from the other deer. Maybe it could—

BANG.

Stan has never seen an animal drain so quickly of life. Sure, Stan had seen Kenny die a million times, but there is something heartbreaking about an innocent animal dying.

"No!" Stan's voice broke the morning silence.

Stan feels cliché, but he can't help but kneel down and pet the deer, never mind the blood coming from the bullet wound in between the eyes of the deer. Never mind the stupid tears filling Stan's eyes. Never mind the heavy footsteps nearing him.

Stan sits and lets his tears fall. He figures the hunter is probably some old redneck like his Uncle Jimbo or his friend Ned, just trying to get another deer mount for their gunroom. Let them see him cry for a deer he never got the chance to meet.

Stan isn't sure what he plans to say to the hunter. Most likely, it will all come out at once. Babbling will topple over blubbering from his mouth, but he knows he has only one question in mind.

How could you?

"Damn, Marsh, you gonna cover it in flowers, too." A question that isn't a question.

When Stan looks up to see a mirror image of himself, except donned in camoflage netting and the like, rage fills him.

"Are you fucking kidding me dude!? Craig h—"

"Cool it, Marsh, get off my meat."

Stan has always known Craig Tucker has a cold heart. Clyde Donovan has come to practice on many occasions in tears over something Craig has said to him. He couldn't take his eyes off of the eyes of the deer, how lifeless they looked.

"How could you."

"I said get off my meat."

Stan felt like Pocahontas trying to save John Smith, although his John Smith is already dead.

"How could you!? You're the biggest, the biggest douche bag I've ever met! How can you just look at this deer like a piece of meat like some sort of prize like…"

Stan can hear his words, but he's not registering anything coming out. He looks from the lifeless deer eyes to Craig's with every breath. There comes a point where Stan loses sight of which eyes belong to which. He notices Craig has moved considerably closer to Stan and the deer.

Craig's eyes are so lifeless themselves; Stan hears his steady stream of words slow. Craig's eyes look so sad that Stan thinks his animal rights speech has done some good in Craig. Although nothing can bring back the deer.

"Shove off Marsh." With that Craig gave Stan a hard push off the deer.

Stan knows he can't fight Craig over a dead deer. If the deer still held a pulse Stan thinks things would be different.

Although Craig still has a gun in his hands.

"Help me carry this to my truck." So Stan did.

The walk to the truck is quiet. Stan hears birds now, in his mind they sing sorrowful songs for their fallen neighbor, but he thinks he hears Craig's whistle with them.

Once they reach his truck, Stan can see Craig has butcher's paper as well as twine. He watches Craig set up his makeshift butcher's station, portable sink and all. He watches as Craig cuts the meat and wraps certain pieces with certain pieces carefully and quickly.

After a few minutes of starring, Stan curls up in a ball as Craig cuts the throat of the deer. Stan can't bear to watch, but he feels he should stay with the deer, for moral support. Stan keeps his head down, but listens to Craig do his job.

After a few minutes of hearing ripping and tearing, squishy organs being bagged up, Stan finds his voice.

"You cut the throat a little high, won't look so good on the wall."

Craig doesn't respond, so Stan pushes on. "What is this? A 20 pointer? 30? Are you going to go home and brag to your friends about how cool you are for killing an innocent deer?"

Craig remains focused on the deer. Stan watches as he carefully separates the skin from the muscle of the deer, using his water bottle to rinse his hands clean of blood.

"Did you ever think—"

"Did you ever think that I am killing innocent animals for a reason."

Stan feels small. As much as Craig can be an asshole, Stan was so disappointed in Craig for killing the deer, he didn't think much about the reason.

"My family doesn't have the money to get grade A prime-rib like yours, Marsh. Since my dad is too drunk to care anymore, call this my grocery store." Craig motions to the wooded area the two boys just walked out of.

It takes all about 2 hours until Craig had his tools rinsed and placed neatly in the back of his truck.

Stan kicked at the dirt as he watched Craig place the packaged meat next to the rolls of skin in the truck bed.

"Need a ride?"

Stan feels and apology is needed on his end, but his shame and embarrassment had his mouth in a clamp.

He doesn't know the exact location, but Stan knows that Craig is slowing down much closer than either one of their homes.

The trailer park. Kenny's house.

Before Stan can ask Craig hops out of the car, "Be right back."

Stan watches as Craig gives a few packages of meat to Kenny, who must have known Craig was on his way. He sees both boys look towards the truck and Kenny raise his free hand to wave at Stan. Stan sees Craig make his way back and throw a middle finger to the blonde who steps inside. Stan sees Kenny raise the meet in victory and he can hear his voice from the truck.

"Foods here."

Craig jumps back in the truck and drives Stan back to towards town.

With some direction from Stan, Craig pulls up to the Marsh residence.

"Thanks for the ride, Craig."

Craig doesn't respond. He carefully selects a tape and slides it into his truck's tape player.

Stan knows Craig probably doesn't care about what Stan thinks, but he's quite sure he can reason with anyone, "listen Craig, I'm sorry for what I said." Not much reasoning needed, just a conscience relief for Stan.

"It's cool." Stan barely hears over the truck's ignition.

The next day Stan steps out for another morning run. He isn't sure who he hopes to see, another deer or Craig.

He finds a little bit of both.

On his doorstep; deer jerky with a note attached: Enjoy.-Craig.

**Eh, my side of Craig wasn't so great. I might make another chapter to redeem myself. Thanks for the read!**


End file.
